


Hope shall fade

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9190424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: "I heard the voice."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> blame [this photo sequence](http://wanderingsmithca.tumblr.com/post/155370586173/oh-hello-snapfic) by stiwfssr. *I* was just scrolling through my dashboard avoiding work.. and *it* went and grabbed my brain!!
> 
> The opinions spoken herein are those of the characters, not the writer.
> 
> They weren't feeling cheerful.

"I heard the voice." (He was barely aware of the present. As lost in the past as if it was a year ago, or 3 or 10. These moments were all the same; each time new with no memory of having been before.)

"Goody..." (He *knew* he couldn't reason him out.. he *did*. But he could *never* help trying. Never quite stop seeing the -clear-minded, well-read, able to reason the squirrels out of the trees- man that he loved. Even when it was the broken pieces of his soul that were in front of him.)

 

"Billy, I heard it." (Automatic annoyance at being disbelieved always came with his certainty. Though he didn't remember this.)

(Billy stared, somewhere between anger and pleading, wanting so hard to see *Goody* reappear in those eyes.)

 

"I pull that trigger in anger..." (If I can just explain, he'll understand! Of course he will. Billy knows. Billy loves me. He understands...)

(Once the attempts at reason started he knew he'd lost. He made the mistake of trying to reason back, years ago. Over and over. It never worked. It made it worse after. It broke his heart. He stayed because this WASN'T all the time. It WOULD pass. But he'd long since learned: a few drinks helped Goody breathe through his pain. A few breaths of smoke helped *him* breathe through *his* pain.)

 

"I heard it." (Please Billy. I... I'm not... You gotta...)

(He knew it hurt Goody that he didn't believe him. But he'd also tried that. Tried humouring every word that wasn't quite so completely wrong... but it didn't 'help'. The spell lasted what it lasted. And Billy's words hardly seemed to even make him feel better even at the time! Just breathe, Billy. Stay calm and breathe. It was all he could do. For either of them.)

 

(I know they're here. I'm so damn tired, dammit. Why...)

(Was a time he'd sneered at the drunks he'd seen drown themselves every night at a saloon when he stayed in one place long enough. Sneered at their weakness and thought himself so much more toughened by the cards men like them had dealt him. That he could suffer pain and insult and hunger and still stand un-aided. Moments like these, nowdays, when that first stinging layer of smoke immediately eased the cramping pain in his chest, he always thought of those men, and sent them a silent apology for judging what sent them looking for respite.)

 

(So much better, that breath without what he could admit, at this moment, was *fear*. Fear he would one day not be strong enough. Not strong enough to stay, to stand. Not strong enough to be there for Goody when he was needed. But not today. Flipping that cigarette and using a bare twitch to offer it to the lost man besides him was as much a reflex as grabbing and flipping one of his blades to silently threaten fools. A silent offering that skipped any judgement and bypassed any discussion. Reaching for the man inside, in pain and not actually wanting to remain lost; Billy's lost love.)

(What was he going to do. It was going to come for him. But if Billy stayed. Gods, how could he... Aw, Billy... Seeing that smoke held out from those so very familiar fingers. Fine and skilled and so very quick most of the time. Aw but he knew they felt so... so very peace-inducing, when they touched him as he fought sleep. He shouldn't take the smoke. He shouldn't. Didn't deserve the ease when so many- But he couldn't help it. It hurt to breathe. And Billy... aw damn my eyes; my Billy...)

 

(Sometimes, some bad times, he didn't accept the cigarette. He wasn't sure, on days when he was tired, if he'd have the courage to make the offer without the smoke buffering him.) "They're just dreams, Goody." (We'll get through this, Goody. We *will*. There'd been some really bad times when he got lost enough to suspect Billy. A *very* few where the terror still came out the way it had when they were still very new travelling companions. The outgoing southerner changing to a hissing, snarling creature on waking in a noisy summer wood. Pupils wide and black with terrible fear, twisted into unknowing hatred and wild anger. Bright smile mangled into spitting snarling pointed teeth. ..But other times. Other times.. Familiar, loving, fingers would touch his, so gently, before reaching for the roll-up. He could almost hear Goody's husky voice in his hear, then, rasping bits of love poems, one *syllable* at a time, slow and sweet as the molasses he still enjoyed. Tenderest odes to the damnedest parts of Billy's so ordinary self.)

(Dreams... But they weren't. It was real.. It.. had been. He was sure. He remembered. This pain was real! But Billy's rolled cigarettes felt so familiar. Completely different from the sloppy things he and the boys exchanged- oh god, they're dead! I should have.. I shouldn't have.. God help me; Billy... When that first breath hit, for timeless moments, all was rootless fog. On the exhale, he felt one of Billy's knuckledusters against his knee. The others around them were still hazy, but he'd know Billy's gentle touch anywhere. Another shaky breath and the fog started to lift. Maybe they *were* dreams. But his madness was no dream. He would truly fail Billy, one day. But maybe not tonight. He could breathe. For now. His eyes were still whole, his lungs still pushed air. He could bear to smile for the man who'd stood with him through so much. Could help him stand another day at Goody's pitiful side. He could. They could.)


End file.
